


Bluebells

by worriedpeach (skeletonflowers)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Flowers, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Phan - Freeform, Phanfiction, Romantic Fluff, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 21:46:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11906835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonflowers/pseuds/worriedpeach
Summary: Dan just really wants to put flowers in Phil’s hair.





	Bluebells

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've had this image in my head of Phil with flowers in his hair for like 2 months straight and obv i needed to write about it since I can't do art. This whole fic is basically just me gushing about how beautiful Phil is and I'm not even ashamed. this fic has an audiofic now! listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RUvidU_RHQ&t=25s

There is a boy that makes Dan yearn to weave flowers into his hair every time he sees him. There is a boy with pale skin as white as snow and pretty blue eyes the colour of Bluebells. He has hair like the night sky and it sometimes glimmered in the light to form little galaxies. He wanted to thread Baby's Breath through those pretty raven locks until his hair matches the colour of his eyes.

It was an addiction, an anomaly, something that does not normally cross Dan’s mind. Usually, he doesn’t see someone and want to thread flowers through their hair. Usually, he doesn’t think about flowers _at all_. 

But then he saw _him_ and he couldn’t stop himself from going home and studying the names of flowers that reminded Dan of him. Hyacinths and Marigold and Sweet Peas and Lavender, all melding into one to make the most beautiful man Dan had ever laid eyes on. 

He sat in front of Dan in Philosophy and he twirled his pen in his fingers as the professor rambled about existentialism. Occasionally he would run a hand through his pretty black hair and Dan would watch and wish it were his hands instead. Although, _his_ hands were pretty too, so delicate and soft, and Dan’s own hands would probably swallow them whole. 

He was a Sunflower, a friendly giant with soft, fragile petals. Ones that reflected bright sunshine and general happiness. He was a daffodil, one that brightens the room and makes everyone think, _the sun is always shining when I’m with you_. 

His name was Phil, as he corrected the professor when they called him _Philip_. It was a name that surprisingly fit, one that burned into the Dan’s brain like a brand. He wanted to whisper the name into Phil’s skin as he twirled daisies into his hair. 

Was that strange? Probably. But Dan’s learned by now that all of the best experiences come from just a little bit of strangeness. 

The first time he did it, Dan didn’t know what he was thinking. He’d come across a little patch of starlets and thought of blue eyes and black hair, and before he could think anything of it, he was tearing one from the stem. He twirled it around between his fingers as he walked to class, his eyes drawn the the delicacy of such a flower, the bright blue colouring that made everything else look dull in comparison. 

When he sat in his seat, even earlier than his Philosophy professor had been, he didn’t dare take his eyes away. He didn’t look away from the small blossom until a certain boy plopped into the seat in front of him. Dan watched in awe as Phil reached into his backpack, pulling out his notebook. The notebook had little cacti all over it and it made Dan smile slightly because this guy was just way too cute and Dan was absolutely enamoured. 

Before he could even think twice about it, Dan was leaning forward. He didn’t tap on the boy’s shoulder, didn’t speak to him, didn’t do _anything_ to really draw Phil’s attention. But he _did_ place that starlet into Phil’s hair, unable to help himself. The blue flower was such a nice accent to Phil’s hair, and Dan felt himself fall for the boy all over again. 

Phil froze, as did Dan. His mind was screaming at him, asking him why he’d done something so horribly _creepy_ , but he couldn’t take it back and Phil was definitely going to hate him and think he was weird. 

But Phil didn’t turn around to give Dan a dirty look, didn’t spit out horrible words about how Dan was weird and creepy. No, he only reached up with his hand and touched the petals with pale, slender fingers. Dan couldn’t see the expression on Phil’s face, but judging by the way Phil didn’t remove the flower, instead just letting his hand drop to his desk, Dan reckoned he could assume that he wasn’t _too_ terribly upset about it. 

Phil kept the flower in his hair all throughout class. It elicited stares from other students, but that didn’t make Phil take it out. It really _did_ look nice in his hair, too. Dan would weave a hundred flowers through his hair if he had the chance to, just to see those bright petals against the silky black locks. When class was all finished, Dan watched in amazement as Phil packed his backpack and left, the bright blue flower still tucked in his hair for the world to see. 

He just knew that he had to try it again another day. 

It became sort of a routine after that. Dan would pick various flowers each day before class. He would pick daisies and jasmines and violets and weave them through black hair. Phil would never say anything about it, but each time he would reach up and feel the smooth petals with his fingertips, and Dan would capture a small glimpse of a smile before they had to focus on the professor once more. 

He did it every day, and it was an absolute miracle that Phil hadn’t said anything about it yet. That _anyone_ hadn’t said anything about it yet. Dan was being a little creep, was putting flowers into the hair of someone he barely knew, and then they would part ways and Dan would be left with the image ingrained into his mind of a beautiful pale boy with dashes of colour in his dark hair. 

He wanted to _paint_ it, wanted to share with the world how truly and utterly ethereal Phil was, but alas, Dan was not a painter. He was just a man who studied philosophy and had too many thoughts that would never be brought to light. 

So he put flowers in the hair of pretty boys. He tried to analyse why the flower wasn’t plucked out of existence by his victim, why Phil kept letting him do something so completely and utterly strange. He listened to the soft tone of Phil’s voice whenever the professor called on him, and watched as Phil ran a hand through his hair, careful not to dismantle the blossoms Dan had carefully placed. 

The day that Dan didn’t bring a flower to class was the day that he had been running horribly late. 

He woke up thirty minutes after his alarm had gone off and hadn’t even had enough time to shower, much less straighten his hair. He cursed under his breath and got dressed in the first clothes he had seen - a very old high school jumper and some too-ripped jeans - and practically ran out the door. When he saw patches of petunias, he didn’t stop. When he saw a bush of marigold come into view, he didn’t dare stop. 

He only stopped when he came to his classroom, ten minutes late, and sat down in his designated desk behind Phil. He kept his head down for most of his lecture, both embarrassed that he was late and also embarrassed that he wasn’t able to look very good that day. He didn’t look at Phil because he knew that he would only be disappointed in himself, that he would be upset that he couldn’t see bright pinks and yellows and blues against ebony like usual. 

His professor was talking about Plato, about something that Dan could probably cite in his sleep. He had taken far too much interest in philosophers over the years and had even been following a youtube account that talked about every philosopher the world had to offer. Dan was too much of a nerd, but in instances where he couldn’t possibly pay attention, he thanked his nerdiness. 

When class was finished at last, Dan was just about to bolt. He’d packed up his books as soon as the professor had finished speaking, and he slung his backpack over his shoulders. He wanted to get out of there as soon as he possibly could so that he could get home and wipe the grime from his hair, wipe the sleep out of his eyes that hadn’t yet seemed to disperse. 

But before he could, a certain beautiful boy stepped in front of him, made it impossible for Dan to leave. Dan gazed into those blue eyes and he felt a part of him detach and leave his body because Phil was _right in front_ of him, and he looked like he was about to actually _speak_. 

And speak, he did. “Where’s my flower today?” he asked in a soft and joking tone, accompanied with a smile. Everything about him was so soft that it nearly made Dan want to break down and cry. Phil was wearing dungarees over a pastel yellow shirt. He had on black boots that tied in the front, and Dan noticed that one of the ties was undone. If Phil had asked, Dan would probably get on his knees and do his shoe back up, but for now he was shocked at the words that had come out of Phil’s pretty pink mouth. 

“You- what?” Dan asked, taken aback. He raised his eyebrows and Phil didn’t look annoyed. He looked rather amused. 

“My flower! You always put flowers in my hair, but you didn’t today. Well? Where is it, Howell?” 

To hear Phil speaking his last name in such a light and sassy tone was everything Dan had thought he needed to hear. He sent a silent thanks to any God out there for blessing him with this moment, because only yesterday, he had thought he’d never have a chance like this. Yet here he was, with Phil Lester right in front of him, asking him directly why Dan wasn’t putting flowers in his hair.

And Dan was speechless. He gaped at Phil, licked his lips, opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He tried again. Cleared his throat. Gaped some more. Took a deep breath. Until finally, _finally_ , he could stop looking like a fish gasping for air. “I was late so I didn’t have time to look at the flowers today,” he said quietly, his face surely the same shade as amaryllis. 

Phil hummed and he rocked back on his heels, his hands in the pockets of his dungarees. He was too cute for Dan to function today. He just wanted to grab him and kiss his nose or something. But he held himself back. “Well then, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” Phil asked, grinning widely. Dan gave him a confused look, and Phil’s smile only grew. He held his hand out for Dan to shake. “Phil Lester at your service! If you don’t have another class for a while, I’d like to go look at some flowers for you. I won’t allow you to get away with the crime that you tried to commit today.” 

Dan laughed in amazement, shaking his head. “You really are something,” he murmured, but his stomach was filled with butterflies and his lungs were filled with roses and everything Dan had thought was initially impossible was suddenly turned upside down. 

“Well? What d’ya say?” 

“I’d be an idiot if I said no, wouldn’t I?” Dan told him, and Phil clapped his hands together and did a little whoop of triumph. It was cute. It was _pure_. It was everything Dan had wished and hoped for. 

So they headed out of the philosophy building. They made their way to the fields of their university, and Phil was a lot more chatty than Dan had expected. Dan didn’t mind, though. He was more of a thinker, and he liked listening to the way Phil talked, how he formed words with his tongue and lips and made every story he told come to life. Dan liked to watch how Phil’s face lit up with the brightness of a thousand suns and how his cheeks turned pink in the heat of spring.

He was so soft and ethereal and Dan was so _lucky_. 

When they got to the fields, Phil sat on the ground and smiled up at Dan as he started to look through the patches of flowers. There was lilac and hyacinth and azalea, but for some reason none of them could rival Phil’s beauty. None of them popped out at Dan and screamed _beautiful_ , because he already had the most exquisite specimen beside him, watching as he ran his fingers over the petals of various flowers. 

Dan ended up plucking a bluebell, because they had always reminded him of Phil’s eyes, and Dan wanted to know if they were _truly_ the same colour as Phil’s eyes, or if the flowers were much more vibrant. 

Phil closed his eyes as Dan placed the flower in his hair, and then, because he couldn’t resist, he began to pluck more flowers and placed them beside the bluebell. He decorated Phil’s head with jasmine and marigold and amaryllis and any other flower that he could possibly find. It made Phil look like a faerie, Dan decided, a creature of the grass and skies, one that lived with the flowers. He was certainly _bright_ enough in his dungarees and his yellow shirt, and now colourful hair. 

“I like the way you look with flowers in your hair,” Dan whispered, as if he was telling Phil a secret. And it _was_ kind of a secret, because he had kept this to himself for so long, but now he was able to tell Phil exactly what he was feeling. “But for some reason, I think the flowers aren’t quite as beautiful as you are.” 

Phil opened his eyes and Dan was stricken for a moment, unable to formulate any of his thoughts. His mind went blank and Dan found himself lost in the colours of Phil’s eyes. There was green and yellow amongst the blue, and Dan had always thought Phil’s eyes were the colour of bluebells, but now he realised that bluebells weren’t quite as vibrant. “You’re just saying that,” Phil murmured back.

Dan shook his head, because he had never said anything truer and he didn’t think Phil understood. “I mean it with all my heart.”

Phil beamed at him and it nearly blinded Dan. He could barely process what was happening as Phil placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him down enough so that he could place a soft kiss on Dan’s cheek. “In that case,” Phil whispered against Dan’s cheek, his lips soft and making Dan’s skin heat under the touch, “I give you full permission to thread as many flowers as you want into my hair.” 

“Didn’t I already have permission?” Dan mused, causing Phil to gasp in mock offense and slap his shoulder. Dan laughed, and for once, he also felt as beautiful and vibrant as the flowers, his entire body tingling, skin glowing warm under the sun. 

Maybe that was just the impact of Phil Lester, though. 


End file.
